Daddy's Girls
by BattyBigSister
Summary: When the charity Mrs Berrisford works for asks her to look into the tragic case of yet another disfuntional family, she discovers a nine-year-old foster daughter. Little does she know how that child will end up affecting the lives of her own family.
1. Escape

_Daddy's Girls_

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dark Angel. Fox does. Although they don't seem to know what to do with it, so maybe they should just give it to me?

**Author:** Big Sister

**Rating: ** PG

**Description: **When the charity Mrs Berrisford works for asks her to look into the tragic case of yet another family torn apart by a drunkard father, she discovers a nine-year-old foster daughter who doesn't appear on any records. Little does she know how that child will end up affecting the lives her family and the life of a certain young male still stuck in Manticore

**Timeline:** Varies. Half of it takes place a few months after the 09 escape. The rest is around the same time as the flashbacks in The Berrisford Agenda, Season Two, which puts us one or two years before Season 1

**Pairing:** It's a surprise! ;)

Chapter 1 

Mrs Berrisford surveyed the house in front of her. The lawn needed mowing, or had done before it grew to a length were you couldn't say 'the grass needed mowing' anymore. It was now a case of the hay being in need of harvesting.

The windows too, could probably do with having that black layer of grime removed – and someone really ought to dig the path to the front door back out from under all these weeds. Even one of the hinges on the battered wooden front door itself was damaged.

Sighing Mrs Berriford smoothed her dark grey shirt and raised one slender white hand to a level just above the rusting doorknob, her newly manicured nailed curled inwards towards her soft palm. Her knuckles rapped the slightly battered-looking front door sharply. Three times.

Silence.

She tried again.

Still silence. She frowned and brushed a stray lock of still brown hair, which had fallen out of the neat bun on the back of her neck, away from her face. She raised her hand to continue knocking, when suddenly she became aware of a noise on the other side.

The door opened, just a crack, and the thin tired face of a woman in her late forties stared out at her._ 'Well at least I can't see any black eyes or bruises like on the one last week,' _Mrs Berrisford thought relived. 

"Mrs Barrett?" she asked, trying to sound kindly.

"What do you want?" a rather horse voice snapped in return.

"I'm Mrs Rebecca Berrisford, from the American Family Welfare Society …" Instantly the other woman began to close the door. "No please!" Mrs Berrisford cried, "I was wondering if I could talk to you about your daughter …"

"My daughters are fine!" Mrs Barrett snapped, her dull hazel eyes narrowing behind lined and baggy lids.

"Please," the lady begged, "Just hear me out. If you don't like what I've got to say, I'll leave, I promise."

Mrs Barrett paused. One hand still firmly placed on the side of the door.

"Just five minutes of your time, that's all I'm asking for…"

The door closed. Mrs Berrisford heart sank – damn, she had failed – but then she heard the sound of a chain being pulled back. Slowly it opened once again this time revealing the whole of the small pre-maturely aged woman.

She was dressed in an old fashioned flowery apron, which had dark grease stains smudged across it, probably from some sort of menial chore, like scrubbing out an oven. Her grey hair was streaked with white lines and had all been pulled back out of the way under an old tattered looking brown scarf.

There was a moment's pause as Mrs Berret regarded her uninvited visitor. "Five minutes – then you go," she said, slowly unblocking the route into the house.

"Thank you," Mrs Berrisford replied, picking up her briefcase. The hardest part was over now. She had gotten inside the house. Now if she was just careful and didn't make any slips she might be able convince Mrs Barrett to trust her enough to let her help her and her family. Not that is was going to be easy. These types of cases never were.

_'Daughter_s_,'_ Mrs Berrisford suddenly thought to herself, nervously reviewing her notes in her head as Mrs Barrett lead her into the kitchen, _'She said 'daughter_s_'. Plural. The file said she only had one...'_

"Coffee?" Mrs Barrett asked, taking two cracked mugs from the draining board.

Mrs Berrisford eyed the stained things suspiciously, but knew better than to compromise the woman's trust in her by slighting her hospitality. "Yes please," she smiled, selecting a seat at the cluttered and stained kitchen table, "Thank you."

She watched as Mrs Berrisford boiled the water and ladled two meagre spoonfuls of instant coffee into the mugs. "Milk and sugar?" she asked, turning to the fridge, which looked like it had been installed sometime in the sixties.

"Just milk, thank you," Mrs Berrisford said, keeping a pleasant tone in her voice.

Mrs Barrett poured some of the required beverage into both mugs and then ladled several large spoonfuls of sugar into her own. She stirred then both, depositing one in front of Mrs Berrisford, as she perched upon a worn wooden chair on the opposite side of the table, clutching her own mug in her bony fingers.

"You wanted to talk?" she growled.

Mrs Berriford smiled. She had decided to start on a general friendly tone to try and gain Mrs Barrett's trust before she got on to the heart of the matter. She had to put the woman at ease, since she couldn't help at all if Mrs Barrett was simply going to be purely defensive the whole time.

"You have a nice house here," she said, nodding appreciatively at the dirt marks on the wall, "Have you lived here a long time?"

"A while," the other woman muttered.

"It must be nice for the children to have such a big house and garden to play in."

"Yeah, they like it here,"

"So they should. Seems like a friendly community … I noticed a lot of parks and playgrounds around here as I was driving along the roads up to your place. I guess  they must play outside a lot?"

"Not so much during the week, but they're usually outside pretty quick as soon as Jack comes home." Mrs Barrett blushed suddenly and fidgeted with her coffee mug.

"Your husband?" Mrs Berrisford asked softly.

"Yes," the other woman muttered quietly. '_Best not to push it for now,'_ Mrs Berrisford decided, _'Don't want to put her on guard, now that I've started to get her confidence. I'll come back to this when she's ready.'_

The lady gave a sudden high-pitched chuckle. "They must be a handful! Your girls. I don't know how you cope! I just have the one and she causes more than enough trouble for me," Mrs Berrisford smiled broadly and rolled her eyes at the bare lamp on the ceiling.

"What's her name?" Mrs Barrett asked, "Your daughter?"

"Rachel," Mrs Berrisford replied with a disarming smile, "She's nearly nine now."

"About the same age as my Maxie," Mrs Barrett almost smiled herself at the name.

It was the opening Mrs Berrisford had been waiting for. "Maxie," she repeated thoughtfully, "That's a pretty name."

"Thanks, but I didn't pick it. She came with it." Mrs Barrett paused, "She … she was my late cousin's Beth's girl."

"Oh, I see," the other woman nodded sympathetically, "Must be tough starting out with a brand new family. Does she get on well with your daughter?"

"Yes, they're almost like sisters. So close to each other," Mrs Barrett suddenly really did smile, "You know I've been looking for a sister for Lucy ever since I found out I couldn't have any more kids. I was so pleased when I found Maxie. She's such a good little girl. Ever so polite and helpful. A real sweet kid."

"Sounds like you're very lucky to have her," Mrs Berrisford acclaimed.

"Yeah," Mrs Barrett laughed, "Yeah we are. Do you want some cookies with that coffee, Mrs … em …"

"Berrisford - but please, call me Rebecca," Mrs Berrisford chuckled, "And yes, cookies would be great. Thank you."

"I'm Joann then," Mrs Barrett grinned, pushing a rather battered tin towards 'Rebecca'.

Suddenly the sound of loud cheering burst in from the living room, following by a loud grunt. The colour visibly drained from Joann's face. "Jack," she whispered. Then she shook herself slightly. "Sounds like the Dodgers are scoring. That's good," she murmured absently.

"Good?" Involuntarily Rebecca raised an eyebrow.

Joann paused, choosing her words carefully, "He's usually in a better mood when they do well…"

"Oh really…" Now it was Rebecca's turn to ponder over which words to pick. The wrong ones could jeopardise the limited headway she had already made. She decided that it would be best to play ignorant of any family troubles and avoid all suspicion, "Men and their sport, huh? I don't think I'll ever understand that …"

"Yeah …" Joann shrugged unenthusiastically. Rebecca hadn't been expecting very much better. She realised that for Joann, her husband's obsession with the Dodgers signified a whole lot more than just – 'men and their sport'.

Out of the blue, the lights flickered off around them. The little red LEDs of the dirty microcwave's clock faded into a dull auburn. The house shook with a  loud roar of anger from the living room, which chilled all it's occupants to the bone.

"Oh no," Joann whispered, suddenly petrified, "A power cut…"

The sound of loud thuds echoed in through the hallway. Doors slammed, rocking the house every time. Rebecca stiffened, not allowing herself to feel the fear that was beginning to well up inside of her. She glanced to her side and felt a sharp stab of pity at the sight of Joann cowering in terror against the table.

Abruptly the thuds became slightly quieter. "He must have gone into the basement," Joann breathed slowly. She smiled weakly and shifted her shoulders back upwards into a nearly normal sitting position.

Then the sound of a child crying out in pain filled the house. Joann winced, and looked down at the few stray shopping bags, which had fluttered into the corner of floor, as further cries filled the house.

Rebecca sat awkwardly in her chair, unsure of exactly what to do. Her fingers tensed and untensed around her mug. Her teeth worked furiously over the corner of her lip. Then suddenly she had had enough. A closed look fell over her face, as she rose swiftly to her feet.

Joann stared at her. "What are you doing?" she hissed. Rebecca ignored the startled woman and marched past her towards the door. Joann eyes widened in horror, "No please! _Don't_!"

Not paying her the slightest bit of heed, Rebecca ripped the kitchen door open. The cries of the child lead her towards the basement. A terrified Joann followed her, begging her to stop all the way.

Rebecca strode through the open doorway into the basement. The sight that greeted her appalled her, even though she'd been expecting it. A bald man in his late fifties stood by the side of the stairs, his fist repeatedly slamming into the cavity beneath it … in prefect time with the child's cries.

The lady flew down the steps, flinging herself just beside the aggressor. She caught a glimpse of the two little girls crouched beneath the stairs. As she stared the man's hand slammed against the cheekbone of the eldest, a girl of around twelve, sending her poor head crashing against the wall.

Mrs Berrisford cleared her throat loudly.

Instantly the man froze. Slowly he turned, his pig-like eyes fixed on the intruder.

"Who are you?" he growled warily. Rebecca smiled. She had guessed correctly. Like most bullies, this man was a coward. He wouldn't dare strike the children if other people were in the room.

"I came to visit your wife," Rebecca explained, "We were worried by the noise down here, _weren't we,_ Joann_?_" She glanced up at the other woman, who was cowering on the stairs above them. The colour drained from Joann's face like it would from one receiving a death sentence as she heard her name mentioned.

"Well, there's nothing down here!" her husband muttered defensively, "You ladies oughta go back upstairs." Rebecca said nothing, merely fixing him with a cold stare. Slowly Jack Bennett backed away from her, retreating up the stairs to safety, but not without giving his wife a hard glare that said as much as 'I'll deal with _you_ later.'

Joann looked as though she wished to melt into the concrete steps she was squatting on.

Rebecca saw her face. She knew it was time to make her move – or risk losing all hope of getting the woman and her children away from this hellhole.

"Joann," she said firmly, "I can get you out of here. You and you're daughters. To a refuge. You'll be safe – and I'll make sure he won't _ever_ find you. I promise!"

Just at that moment, the two girls slowly crawled out from underneath the stairs into their mother's sight. Joann could see the new bruises forming on her eldest daughter's face. It made her think of all the indignities and the abuse they suffered every day - and she knew that was no way for kids to grow up.

"You promise we'll be safe from him?" she asked anxiously, her fingers tugging distracted at the collar of her dress, "He won't never find us? Never?"

Rebecca nodded.

Joann bit her lip, "Then ... alright …"

Relief spread over Mrs Berrisford's features, as she gave a contented little sigh. Collecting herself, smiled reassuringly at the woman on the stairs, but when she spoke it was in an urgent whisper, "You won't regret this Joann! Go and pack everything you desperately need. Clothes, toothbrush, soap, etc and then get to my car. We'll go _now_!"

Joann nodded quickly. She rose to a half standing position and extended her hand. The eldest daughter rushed up to seize it, pressing her small body against the worn skinny one of her mother's. Protectively Joann placed her spare hand over the girl's shoulder and ushered her upstairs to grab the things the most urgently needed for their flight to freedom.

The youngest, however, just stood there, staring at Rebecca.

"Hurry, honey," the grown lady told her gently, "We've got to be quick."

Still the little girl just stood there. She was such a dark child. Rebecca noticed. From her beautiful tan skin, to her big staring brown eyes, to her short dark brown hair that stuck out in all directions – everything was dark. Yet it was her attitude, which struck Rebecca most. She so calm, so serious - not like a child at all. More like a little angel. '_A dark angel_,' Rebecca played with the thought for a moment; then dismissed it irritably. How pathetically sentimental.

She frowned as she realised that the child was still making no move to follow her mother and sister. "_Go upstairs_," the woman barked, still bitterly irritated, "Go and pack." She regretted her harsh voice immediately. She was supposed to be helping this family - not ordering them.

Surprisingly however, her words had the desired effect upon the girl. Instantly she turned around, and rapidly placed her bare feet on the cold concrete to go back upstairs to the other two females.

Shrugging in satisfaction, Rebecca followed her upstairs, keeping an eye on the little figure as it moved ahead of her towards the hall. That was when she noticed the barcode on its neck.


	2. The Piano Teacher

Author's Note:  Yep, it's been awhile hasn't it! I was _really_ busy – had a lot of projects to be getting on with… But anyway, due to complains of this chapter being 'rushed' – I've rewritten it. Hope you like it better now… Chapter 2 

The brown-haired, hazel-eyed X5 stood smartly to attention.

Sandoval glanced up over the top of a clipboard, "Have been briefed on your mission, X5-494?"

The bald middle-aged man dull grey eyes fixed on the younger one, seemingly scrutinizing the handsome erect figure of the powerful athletic soldier. He was one of the most lethal weapons ever to have existed, and yet in the eyes of those, like Sandoval, who had watched him grow from infancy – undeniably – a mere teenage boy.

Yet the response was prompt as always, "Yes sir … the target is Robert Berrisford; 58 years old; Widow; CEO Mercidine and one of Manticore's sub-contractors."

Sandoval nodded approvingly at him, "Our intelligence indicates that Berrisford's been curious lately about the work we do here, asking questions he shouldn't. Close surveillance has become a necessity."

"Yes sir," 494 murmured.

"We've established a cover for you," Sandoval continued, "Initially your primary contact will be with his youngest daughter…"

"Yes sir." Instantly the boy straightened and recited what he had memorised that morning, "According to the file her name is Rachel. She's seventeen. Youngest of two. Mother died when was ten. She's a good student, excels in history communications…"

_____________________________________________________________________

The house was huge, an intimidating town estate, where it probably took ten minutes just to get from the kitchen to the front door. It had obviously been built by shamelessly rich upper-class snobs to impress other shamelessly rich upper-class snobs, and yet, it was nothing 494 had not seen before.

Unphased, he rang the buzzer. 

"Yes?" a gruff male voice rang through the metal grid.

"Simon La'Hane?" 494 answered swiftly.

A buzzing noise heralded the opening of the gate. 494 pushed it open and made his way up to the front door. Making a show of seeming nervous in front of the burley bodyguard who opened it for him, he used the opportunity to access the place.

It was large house. Clean, brightly painted and well aired. Inside the actual house itself, he could only spot minimal security, but there was a lot of marble décor, including a huge staircase, which swept down the side of the room. A fight would be easy in these conditions, a stealthy entry much harder, but then – neither of those should be necessary on this mission.

The bodyguard lead him through the hall and indicated that he step inside a brightly light side room. It was full of the expensive tastes he'd noticed throughout the rest of the house. Antique paintings, expensive rugs and in the centre of the room – an impressive grand piano.

By the large bay windows, 494 spotted a tall, fair-skinned brunette who was currently occupied in staring glumly into space. Apparently as one resigned to her fate.

At the sound of the door, she turned – and all at once 494 suddenly found himself enveloped in the most gigantic smile he'd ever seen a woman wear.

He was stunned for a moment by the sheer impact of the perfectly set white teeth in the dainty features of the girl. His mind was lost in a blank mental void he seemed to have no hope of escaping from. His body felt numb and oddly detached, as a warm creeping sensation seemed to float through his stomach. It was rather like having a warm drink on a cold day, except that this sensation was going upwards not down. For once, his extended vocabulary failed to produce the correct words as he tried to describe the vision before him. He couldn't do it. After all – there was just no word for beautiful in the Manticore dictionary.

Almost automatically he felt his hand reach out to clasp that of the suddenly lively-looking brunette, as she offered hers. Their eyes met and 494 could have sworn his stomach was suddenly full of fluttering butterflies, yarning for freedom.

Then his training kicked back in, he shook himself slightly, and planted a friendly, but commanding expression on his face. With a jolt, he realised who it was he'd been staring at. Rachel Berrisford, his new _pupil_. 

_____________________________________________________________________

Rachel tapped the keys warily, a bored look on her picturesque face. Her tutor paced slowly up and down the room, concentrating completely on listening to her playing, as all good soldiers did when set with a task. Whatever it was.

"Is this alright?" she asked all of a sudden, shattering the monotony.

He started. Not used to being interrupted in such a manner by needless questions, but his cool demeanour fell back over him almost at once. "It's fine," he told her, "Just watch your dynamics."  
  
A mischievous sparkle rose in Rachel's eyes. She waited until he had turned away again – and then – suddenly the music changed. Her fingers tapping out a far livelier up-beat tune.

"And this?" she smirked.

494's eyes lit up at the new sounds. This was far better than anything he'd ever heard at Manticore.

"That's good," he practically grinned, "I like it." He did, he realised, very much. It was an unfamiliar feeling, 'liking' something, it wasn't necessary in Manticore, and yet – it wasn't unpleasant…

They were interrupted by the sound of the door opening.

"Well, I see your expanding you're repertoire," the stout man in his late middle-ages laughed as he strode towards the piano.

"Simon's much more fun than my last teacher," Rachel told him eagerly. "He wouldn't let me play anything but Chopin and Mozart," she added, with a smile at her almost-blushing favourite.

The older man chuckled, "I'm all for 'mixing it up a little'! Keeps things interesting … Robert Berrisford." He held out his hand to the piano tutor.

494 took it with a complimentary smile. "Simon Lahane," he told him.

Mr Berrisford nodded, apparently satisfied with his new employee, "Don't let me interrupt. She'll use any excuse to avoid _lessons_ and _practice_."

"**_Daddy!_**" a blushing Rachel protested, as her father pinched her check playfully.

"Be firm," he added good-naturedly to a nodding Simon, as he left the room.

There was silence for a few minutes as Rachel fidgeted uneasily in her seat.

"Your father seems nice," 494 said slowly, remembering his common communication protocol classes.

"He's great," Rachel grinned, "It's just been the three of us though since my Mum died … are _you_ close to your parents?"

494 shifted awkwardly, "No, it's just me."

Rachel looked away, disappointed with the abrupt answer.

"It's okay – they died a long time ago," he finished the excuse he'd been provided with.

The girl's head shoot back up. Her eyes wide in sympathy at the sad tale. 

494 noticed the sudden change. "We're supposed to be playing piano," he told her quickly, "Not talking about my sad childhood."

Sighing inwardly, he rolled his eyes as she returned to her playing. This was going to be hard…

_____________________________________________________________________

"Fine work 494," Sandoval nodded approvingly as he read the papers in his hand.

The transgenic nodded his acceptance of the praise.

"Anything else we need to know that isn't included in your report?" the other officer in front of him asked.

There was a pause as 494 considered this. Suddenly a random piece of information, offered at the end of the last lesson, flashed into his mind. Uncertain, yet unmoving, he spoke, "Yes sir. I've been invited to dinner."

There was a stunned silence in the room. Both of the other two men looked completely taken aback. 494 wasn't entire sure why, possibly it was just that he seemed to be moving though this mission considerably faster than usual. 

"When?" the officer gasped.

"Tonight, sir," 494 replied.

"We had no idea your relationship with Berrisford had progressed this far," Sandoval exclaimed, recovering slightly from his surprise.

"It wasn't Berrisford who invited me, sir. It was the daughter," 494 explained.

Suddenly the two older men smiled, exchanging knowing looks.

"Really?" Sandoval grinned.

"Under the impression there's a romantic interest on her part?" the officer asked, desperately trying to control his facial muscles.

494 looked confused.

"Does she _like_ you?" the officer elaborated, now openly smirking.

Hesitantly 494 responded, "She's given every indication she enjoys my company, sir …"

The smiles of the two men grew wider.

"Play along 494," Sandoval told the young man, "This could give you beneficial access."

"Yes sir," a bewildered transgenic replied.

_____________________________________________________________________

The young couple sneaked through the patio onto the balcony. Giggling they swept down the steps and slipped inside the poolroom. Safely hidden from sight, Rachel turned to the young man.

"Hey," he muttered, "We shouldn't be gone too long. Your father…"  
  


"My _father _is busy with his cronies talking business," Rachel interrupted, "You'd be bored."

"Uh?" 494 shrugged, "Maybe not."

Rachel grinned, "You're a funny one!"

494 raised an eyebrow, "I am?"

"Mmm," she muttered, drawing close to him. The man grunted sarcastically, turning his head away.

"Most boys would rather spend a few minutes alone with a girl than sit in a smoke-filled room talking about genetics," Rachel teased playfully.

"Ah," 494 smirked, looking to the side as he raised his eyes in mock-despair, "Well – I'm not most boys."

"I know…" Rachel's voice had suddenly gone very quiet. She glanced sideways at the pool, a glint in her eye.  "Do you wanna … go for a swim?"

494 exhaled slowly. He glanced across the vast expanse of water that was the Berrisford pool, suddenly nervous. "All-right..." he stuttered.

His eyes widened as she started to fiddle with the straps of the dark dinner-dress she was wearing.

Rachel blushed, "Could you … um … turn around?"

494 shook himself slightly. "Yeah," he muttered apologetically, "Yeah." He turned and started to loosen his tie.

A small splash behind him made him turn his head back towards her. His eyes went even wider…

In seconds, he was down to his underwear and in the water, swimming towards the breathtaking female figure.

Smiling bashfully, she took his hands as soon as he reached her.

"In you haven't noticed," she whispered, half mockingly, half deadly serious, "I've been sort of … throwing myself at you for the last few weeks …" She paused, watching his face nervously for a reply. 494 was too dumbfounded to speak.

Rachel frowned, misunderstanding his silence. "Don't you like me?" she asked anxiously.

494 swallowed, "I like you."

Abruptly she kissed him.

Her soft moist lips played delicately on his, as 494 felt himself becoming oddly hot and almost giddy. Colours swirled before his eyes. Every nerve in his body was tingling with excited electricity, as he forgot everything except the soft delicate touch on his lips.

"I like you a lot," 494 finally breathed as they broke apart.

"Well … this _is_ nice," a third voice cut through the air.

Rachel spun around, sending shockwaves through the water.

"Maxie!" she gasped.

494 looked up. Above them, caught in the doorway by the light flooding off the lit pool, towered another extraordinarily beautiful girl. Her subtle milk chocolate coloured skin was framed around a contrasting cream dress, which swerved down her beautifully curved body and over her pleasingly rounded hips to her knees. Thick dark brown hair, permed and cut back to her shoulders, curled in dark locks around her face, setting off her cherry-red rounded lips and two huge breathtaking dark brown eyes.

To 494 however she barely compared to the female in front of him. The beauty of the new arrival was extraordinary – but in a way he was exceptionally used to, coming from Mantocore were all the girls were always blessed with prefect good looks. He preferred Rachel's pretty flaws. The pettishness, the teasing, the clumsiness… It made her – more natural, more real …

The intruder raised an eyebrow at the courting couple, "Oh, don't let me interrupt…"

Rachel stared at her, blushing furiously, as her grip on 494's hands was beginning to deprive his fingers of their blood supply, "You won't tell Daddy, will you?"

'Maxie' smirked. A pitiless glint flashing in her eyes. She puckered her full lips in a mock-frown. "What? Not tell Daddy his baby girl is playing in the pool with her new boyfriend? Why ever not?" she paused, still grinning, "Who knows – he might just turn this into a pool party for you…"

Rachel scowled, biting hard on her lower lip to stop herself from screaming in rage. "_Maxie_ – you _evil_…"

The other girl laughed, cutting her off. "Well? Aren't you going to introduce us?" she grinned, suddenly making her way to the edge of the water so that her feet were roughly level with Rachel's head.  She knelt down, holding her hand out in mock-seriousness to the young man. "I'm Maxine Berrisford, Rachel's sister."

Uncertainly 494 glanced from one girl to the other. Slowly he took Maxine's hand, muttering, "Simon La'Hane." Instantly earning himself an exasperated glance from Rachel … and a vicious chuckle from Maxine.

"No way - the piano teacher?" Maxine giggled, "What are you doing? Teaching her dynamics?"

494 stared at her uncertainly. Not quite sure how to respond.

Maxine laughed, straightening. "I'll leave you two _lovebirds_ to it then," she leered and, still giggling, made her way out of the poolroom.

There was a silence, as Rachel and her new boyfriend stared after her retreating figure.

"Well," 494 finally spoke up, his mind flashing through his common communication protocol lessons for something suitable, "Your sister seems nice."

"_You,_" an exasperated Rachel sighed, punching him in the arm – much to 494's confusion.

_____________________________________________________________________

The transgenic stared at the screen of the laptop on the desk in front of him as windows flashed past at lightning speed. His fingers tapped several buttons on the keyboard and he waited breathlessly until the new little widow showed a full bar and the words, 'Transfer complete'. Relieved he pulled a disk out of it's slot and stuffed it in his pocket – just in time.

"Simon?" a female voice asked from the doorway.

494 glanced up, "Hey … Maxine."

"What are you doing here?" the girl asked coldly.

494 gave her an embarrassed smile, thinking quickly. "I got lost looking for the bathroom," he muttered. So he had a thing for old classics…

"The bathroom's down the _other_ hallway," Maxine replied icily.

"Ah right …" 494 managed to make himself blush, almost convincingly.

Suddenly Maxine laughed, a playful glint in her eyes. "Has she got you all_ turned around_?" she sneered, knocking her fist against his shoulder.

Instinctively 494 put a defensive hand across the spot she'd hit. For half a second, a frown flittered across his features. That had _hurt_… More than he would have expected from an ordinary.

Recovering himself, 494 smiled disarmingly, "I guess you could say that." He walked away to preserve his cover by heading to the bathroom.

Maxine straightened. Her dark eyes watching him until he reached the office door. "She says she loves you, you know," she suddenly called after him.

"_What_?" 494 spun around, his eyes wide.

"My sister," Maxine repeated coolly, "Says she loves you."

494 stared at her. A part of him was clenched up in fear. He thought of the barcode, covered with make-up on the back of his neck. Of all it signified. If Manticore ever found out…

"Your hands are shaking," Maxine's chilly voice cut through his thoughts.

"They are?" he whispered, staring down at them.

"You all right?" Maxine asked.

"I'm just … happy," 494 explained slowly.

Maxine finally smiled. "Treat her right," she told him as she guided him from the room, "She's my baby sister. She means the world to me."

_____________________________________________________________________

494 let the magnetic bomb case click into place beneath the dark blue jaguar belonging to the Berrisfords. Satisfied that it was secure, he pulled away, trying desperately to keep his head in the game.

He crept past the car, fighting his inner turmoil. Trying desperately to keep his mind clear. Mission. Duty. Discipline. He had to do his job. There _was_ no other way.

Then suddenly he made the mistake of glancing upwards. There she was. Rachel. _His_ Rachel. Packing something away in her bag. 494 swallowed. Voices played themselves back in his head.

_Maxine in the study, "She loves you, you know."_

_Mr Berrisford the day before, "Sometimes the right thing can go _sowrong_."_

_Sandoval giving the elimination order, "Take them all out."_

He walked slowly up the drive. Forgetting the precariousness of his situation for a moment, as he desperately strove to clear the voices and _her face_ out of his memory.

The sound of the bodyguard's voice startled him out of his reverie. Mr Berrisford was making his way to the car.

Startled, 494's enhanced reflexes kicked in, making him dive for the cover of some bushes. Narrowly avoiding being seen.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he glanced down – and froze. The remote. The remote in his hand. It would trigger the bomb. It would eliminate them all. Eliminate her. Kill her.

Then the voices haunted him again.

_His own in the pool, "I like you a lot."_

_Sandoval's order yesterday, "Eliminate the target tomorrow."_

_Another officer prepping him, "You understand your assignment?"_

494's eyes suddenly hardened with purpose. He broke out of his cover, just as Berrisford slammed the car door shut in front of him. Neither he nor the bodyguard noticed the transgenic as he dashed inside the house.

Rachel was coming downstairs, clutching her schoolbag. In seconds 494 was in front of her. Her eyes widened in happy surprise at the sight of him.

"Simon!" she grinned, "What are you doing …"

"We don't have a whole lot of time," he muttered, rushing the steps towards her.

"What's the matter?" she asked gently, supposing he had some bad news to tell her, concerning himself. Perhaps he had to go away…  Rachel felt quite numb at the thought. Please God, don't let her lose her Simon…  
  


"Listen to me," he hissed, "You and your father have to leave town right now."

"_Why_?" she gasped, her eyes narrowing in shock – and sudden instinctive suspicion.

"I'll cover for you," he snapped, "I'll tell them that … y-you left in the middle of the night, but you have to go _now._" He seized her wrist desperately.

"You're hurting me," the girl cried. 

"Come with me," he half-ordered, gently tugging at her arm.

"**_No_,**" she shrieked, pulling away from him, "_Tell me what's happening_!"

Biting his lip, 494 stared at the floor for a second. Slowly he looked up and said the words that blew his whole world apart – and hers right along with it. 

"I was sent here to kill your father," he muttered, "It was my job. You were my _job._"

Stunned Rachel stared at him as his words sank in. Tears welled up behind her eyes.

Her father's voice rang in from outside, calling for her to hurry up.

Suddenly, she slapped the transgenic's face.

"**_Daddy!_**" Rachel yelled frantically. Pushing passed 494, she ran to the door.

Suddenly another woman appeared in her way. Cold brown eyes shot daggers into the young male on the stairs. Maxine.

The darker girl was shaking. Her hand curled into fists, as she bit so deeply into her lower lip that a thin trickle of blood began to tickle across her chin.

494 took a step backwards, half-afraid. Even Rachel was too taken aback by the sight to do anything else for a moment – it proved a moment too long.

As the young man stared, bright light flashed across the two girls. Painting their faces bright pink, as a thundering wave of sound swept over them. Shaking all of them right down to their bones.

Maxine spun round. Her eyes wide, as she saw the family car bursting into a million pieces – with her father inside it.

"**_No! Daddy!_**" Rachel's voice tore through the yard, "**_NO!_**" The younger girl collapsed to her knees, bitter sobs shaking her body. Her sister just stood there, numb with shock, beside her.

Slowly Maxine turned around. Her face a bitter mask of grief as her eyes fixed on the young man who still stood motionless on the stairs above them. "You're from _Manticore_, aren't you?" she whispered, it was more of an accusation than a question.

494 just stood there. A part of him refusing to believe what had just happened. It couldn't be true. It couldn't. He had the remote right here. He hadn't touched it….

Suddenly something inside Maxine broke. Bitter sobs tore though her, as her feet slammed onto the stairs. She was going to beat the crap out of this bastard. Smash his head into the marble behind him. Break every bone in his body. Just to pay him back maybe a tenth, maybe just a hundredth of the pain he had caused her as he robbed her of one of the dearest…the most precious things in her life… but then her baby sister beat her too it.

Pushing Maxine aside, Rachel's frantic fists were suddenly pummelling uselessly against the stunned male's face and chest. Tears ran freely down her face as she vented her grief on the bewildered male.

Her sister turned away. Unable to join the fury without risk of hurting Rachel and feeling sick at the sight of the man who had caused the death of the closest thing she had ever had to a father.

Suddenly tires screeched to a halt on the drive. Maxine glanced up, catching sight of the men inside. One of them held a remote control – identical to the one she had spotted in the hand of the male transgenic.

Calm snapped over her. She pushed her grief aside, to deal with her new mission – survival.

"**_We have to go_**," she yelled, rushing up the stairs as she grabbed one of Rachel's wrists and started pulling the sobbing girl back down and through the house to the back door.

"_This _way," Maxine called back to the remaining transgenic, "Unless you really want to go back to your bosses out there. Don't think they'll be too happy that you screwed up your mission."

Taking a last look outside, 494 saw Sandoval himself climbing out of the jaguar. Wordlessly he raced after the two girls.

_____________________________________________________________________

Night set over the city, spreading yet more shadows and mysteries over the barren concrete landscape. Inside a cheap motel, several sectors away from where the Berrisfords had lived, Rachel slumped exhausted onto the double bed. Between the shock of her father's death and the unexpected departure, even this short stretch had been too much for her – despite the car that her sister and 494 had hot-wired.

Maxine sighed as she closed the motel door, leaning against it as if it's hard chipboard frame could somehow alleviate the dead feeling that was building up inside of her. Slowly she turned around. She caught sight of the male transgenic hovering awkwardly between the window and the broken TV.

"So," she sighed, breaking the wary silence with her earlier question, "You're from Manticore?"

He looked up. "Yes," he said slowly, "How do you know about…? Oh – your father told you I guess."

"No," Maxine shook her head.  494 glanced up at her, frowning.

She didn't explain. "So what was it? You got close to us to find out what we knew and when you found we knew too much – you kill our father?"

"My orders were to kill all of you," 494 said slowly, "I planted the bomb beneath your car and was supposed to wait for you all to enter the vehicle before detonating."

"You planted that bomb!" Rachel gasped. As stupid as it sounded, somehow the realisation that it was _her _Simon who caused her father's death had evaded her until that moment. The realisation that her father was _dead_ had evaded her until that moment. She turned away, sobbing again.

"Yes…" 494 mumbled. He felt like he was back in Manticore – giving a report. Only officers never got this upset. They would raise their voice and threaten – but they never cried or raged like the two women in front of him now.

Maxine bit her lip. "I guess they didn't trust you then," she muttered, turning away, "They set the bomb off themselves. I saw a remote in the car."

494 swallowed, realisation dawning on him, "They must have seen me enter the house and realised I was going to warn you. Then they heard Rachel's scream and when they saw you blocked her way to the car – they must have just decided to take what they could get." He turned his face away, unable to meet the eyes of either of the two Berrisfords.

Anger flooded though her at the prolonged torture of the sound of his voice. In a heartbeat, Maxine flew across the room and punched him hard in the face. The blow sent him flying up into the windowsill. Cursing, he slowly turned his head. Blood trickled from his nose. His large pleading hazel eyes staring straight up at her.

Suddenly Maxine gasped, backing away as if he had suddenly become toxic.

_Those eyes._

She had seen them before. Memories flashed through her mind. 

_A shadow bird flying over a sign reading 'Mission'. A boy with his hands in a beam of light, creating it._

"Ben?" she whispered.

_____________________________________________________________________

I still don't think this chapter is anywhere near as good as the last one, but there you go. I'll have to try harder next time. Please review this thing for me anyway…


	3. Turning Talk

**Author's Note**: Due to complains about it being rushed, I've rewritten chapter two – and looked over Chapter 1 as well – so perhaps you'll like it better now. :D

Sorry for the delay in producing _this_ chapter, but I had something else to complete and it took priory. However with that done, I hurried back to this story as I know that there may possibly still be one or two people waiting for a new chapter, which is more than you can say for any of the other stories I write...

For this chapter, evil little me has decided to play with the timelines. Have fun reading! ;)

**_____________________________________________________________________******

Chapter 3 

"_Rebecca_," the furious woman yelled, "I don't care! _I want out_!"

There were occasions when Mrs Berrisford seriously began to question the other woman's sanity. "Joann…"

Joann growled and rose off her bed. Her fingers curled into fists. "_Don't you 'Joann' me_!" she roared, "_I'm serious this time Rebecca_!_ **I want out**_!"

Rebecca rose from her own seat. Her eyes stern like a schoolmistress faced with an unruly girl. "If you really want to leave the refuge, Joann, nobody's stopping you," she avowed, "But before you go running back to him – think of all you've suffered! Think of your two beautiful girls! Do you really want to risk sending _them_ back to that life?"

An almost insane cackle spat through Joann's bloodshot lips. "_My two beautiful girls, whom **you**'re trying to take away from me_!" she yelled, her fists beginning to shake.

Rebecca's eyes opened wide in apparent surprise. "Nobody's trying to do anything of the kind!" she soothed, shaking her head reassuringly, "_Nobody_'s trying to take your girls away, Joann! No one…"

Joann's cold eyes were boring daggers into her, but just as she opened her mouth to speak again there was a slight movement at the door.

The two women spun around to see the waif-like face of Joann's eldest, Lucy. Her skin was still the same extremely pale sallow shade it had always been, which contrasted sharply with her long strait brown hair and dark eyes with their long curling lashes. Although the child had started to gain weight, she was still painfully slim, making her resemble a beanpole in shape. Too tall and too thin.

"Mum?" her soft voice begged, slowly the slender hands pushed the door inwards and the ungainly long body followed the head into the room. It was covered by a pair of torn jeans and a long t-shirt that (despite her height) reached almost too her knees. A pair of think stripy home-knitted socks separated the growing feet from the carpet.

"Mum?" she asked again.

Finally Joann reacted, "Lucy…" she sighed holding out her arms. Instantly the girl rushed forward, burying herself against her mother's front. The child turned gently in the embrace, so that she finally stood leaning into her mother with her head resting on one of her parent's arms and the other held over her stomach by her own slender little fingers, staring up at Rebecca with those penetrating brown eyes.

Rebecca stood still watching the pair. Somehow she refused to believe that Joann would willingly risk sending her daughter back to a man who would abuse her, both physically and, as they had discovered recently – to her mother's tearful horror – also sexually as well.

_____________________________________________________________________

"I don't know Robert…" Rebecca sighed, running her hand over the bright blue material that made up the evening dress she was wearing. The last rays of the evening light trickled through the large French-windows of the lounge and sparkled in the crystal of the wine glass she was holding, "I think if I work with that family any longer, they will drive me to doing something desperate! She was going on about returning to her husband _again_ today…"

There was a pause as Rebecca settled further back in her black leather easy chair. A small moan escaped her lips. "Honestly," she snapped, "How these women can constantly have such utter _loyalty_ to such _disgusting_ choices of matrimonial partners is beyond me! I mean it's perfectly obvious to any normal person that these 'dear men' haven't changed one iota. Once a bastard. Always a bastard. But _no_ – they keep buying the ridiculous promise that their 'beloved husbands' have changed and run back home to be beaten up again… Well, I guess there's no helping some people…" She sighed and took a sip of her wine.

Her husband gave a small chuckle. "Quite," he agreed, "It is amazing, the sheer level of stupidity some people display."

Robert Berrisford was a broad man, who, now in his forties, was beginning to fill out around the stomach area. Two lively blue eyes sparkled in the middle of his round kind-features. His sandy-brown hair still had most of its original colour, even if it had started to recede a little around the crown. With an almost weary sigh, he slowly placed his glass of wine down on the elegant glass centre table that filled the space between them.  

"Although…sweetheart…" he began, edgily twisting his fingers in his lap, "It would perhaps be better, if you didn't squander quite so much of our resources on charity work, now that times have become a little more tricky..."

She glanced up at him. "Don't be ridiculous, darling. I enjoy my work!"

He shrugged, sighing, "Oh, alright…"

The '_tricky times_' they were referring to happened to be the widespread economic chaos that followed an electromagnetic bomb wiping all the computer systems in most of the USA, sending the country into financial ruin and causing general riots and major shortages of basic amenities like food, water and shelter... Not that really mattered.

As it had occurred just as she was evacuating the Barretts, it _had_ caused Mrs Berrisford a slight inconvenience, as she found that the car radio wasn't working and so she had been forced to do without it as a tool with which to keep her agitated passengers calm and relaxed on the long drive back to Seattle. Oh – and of course there had been the extremely vexing month they had been forced to endure without any power, while there was that scandalous fuss over getting the power back on. Following, which just to top the lot, when they finally _had_ got the electricity restored, they found that half their household appliances - including Mr Berrisford's brand-new $10 000 laptop - had all been affected by the pulse and had to be replaced. That had swallowed up a substantial part of that year's income! There was no chance now of their family topping the Christmas party the McKleins threw last year.

The woman's refuge, that Mrs Berrisford worked in, had suffered slightly worse admittedly. They still had no power, food supplies – amongst others – were at best erratic and all water now had to be fetched from a communal pump in the city centre, which was always beset with those frightful food riots and near-constant warfare between protesters and police. That was probably the reason so many of the women were trying to leave the Seattle shelter at the moment.

Rebecca put her empty glass beside her husband's and stood up. "Another glass, my love?"

He glanced up. "Oh – yes dear!" he smiled and nodded, "Why not? It is a _special_ occasion after all." He winked slightly at his spouse.

She smiled back, rolling her eyes. "Yes – I can barely believe it! Rachel's ninth birthday! How time flies, eh?" She giggled slightly and filled the two glasses with more of the expensive 1960s vintage.

Her husband guffawed loudly, seizing his glass. "I know! Seems like only yesterday she was crawling around in nappies – now look at her! A little beauty! Maybe tomorrow I'll be reaching for my gun to fend off unsuitable boyfriends!" He chuckled, throwing his wife an affectionate smirk.

"Aww… I hope we'll have a little while yet before it gets to that," she giggled, taking a sip of her wine. "Umph!" she put it straight back down again, suddenly excited as a thought struck her, "That reminds me – I've been meaning to tell you! You'll never believe what some of those 'parents' I work with get up to. One of the girls – hardly any older than our Rachel – actually has a proper tattoo!"

Robert Berrisford's eyebrow's shot up. "You're joking!? What a _nine_ year old?"

His wife nodded vigorously. "I know I could barely believe it! I asked her about it once – she said she'd '_always_' had it! Can you imagine the nerve of her parents? Actually putting a young child through something like _that_?"

"Terrible! Terrible thing…" her husband muttered, shaking his head in disgust, "Must have been so traumatic for the child as well…"

"I know," his wife agreed, "Especially considering how young she must have been if she can't even _remember_ it!"

"Parents should have been locked up!" Mr Berrisford exclaimed, "They don't _deserve_ children!"

His wife sighed, finally taking that sip out of her wine. "I think she's actually been adopted, so…"

"Hardly surprising," her husband muttered, his fingers fiddling with the end of the armrest of the leather sofa, "It's disgusting! And now – that poor child is stuck with some stupid butterfly or 'I love Mum' heart seared into its body for the rest of its life!"

Mrs Berrisford frowned a moment. She put her glass back down on the table. "Actually that's the strangest thing," she confided, leaning in closer, "What they picked! It's so strange – hardly makes any sense… but then I guess it wouldn't with lunatics like that…" She shrugged and, lifting the glass of the table, turned away to her own silent reflections.

Her husband frowned, intrigued. Sighing, he drummed on the arm of the sofa. "Rebecca?" he growled.

"Huh?" she glanced over her shoulder, startled out of her musing.

"What was the tattoo of?" her spouse sighed.

"Oh?" Rebecca exclaimed. She rested her head on the palm of her hand, "Didn't I say? It's just … a barcode of all things."

Suddenly there was a smash behind her. Rebecca jumped bolt upright, to see a dark crimson stain forming in her expensive hand-woven Persian rug around the crystal that had been her husband's wineglass.

She frowned, and then caught sight of his face. Her frown intensified – she didn't think she'd ever seen anyone so pale before. His eyes were as round as saucepans. His lips were quivering. His hands were shaking.

"Darling?" she whispered tentatively. 

Slowly his lips began to move. They faltered a couple of times, forming the shape of words, but without releasing any actual sound. Then suddenly Rebecca heard his voice very faintly, as if it was very war away, mutter the words, "A barcode…"

**_____________________________________________________________________**

**Author's Note:** May I categorically state the sheer courage I believe to be displayed by women who manage to walk out of abusive relationships. The views stated in this chapter are those of Rebecca Berrisford – and _not_ necessarily my own. They are merely here to illustrate the class difference between herself and the Barretts.

With that clear – I don't mean to be begging, cuz I _know_ it's annoying, but you see that little purple button right? Mind pressing it and leaving me a line or two to tell me how bad this chapter was…?


	4. Thinking Further

* * *

**_DADDY'S GIRLS_**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Dark Angel. Fox does. Although they don't seem to know what to do with it, so maybe they should just give it to me?

  
**Author's Note:** Sorry, this is soo late. If you need somebody to assign the blame to, blame Syrai … or Forsaken – two of our beloved little tAS Rulemakers – they've had me writing non-stop HR fics, so I've had no time for this one. 8-) 

Oh, but also, since so many of you were so relieved at my playing with the timelines… can I just point out that originally I was simply gonna do a lot of flashbacks, so you would have got the childhood anyway. All that happened was that I just got bored with that idea. There are too many flashbacks in DA fanfiction as it is… wanted something different for a change... 

As for the pairing, which is also being asked about a lot … I've simply not made my mind up yet…Well…I have…but I'm not quite sure whether I've got the courage to actually do it… You'll just have to wait and see. ;)

* * *

Chapter 4 – Thinking Further 

"Ben?" she repeated, stumbling backwards. 

"W-what?" the male transgenic stared up at her. His jaw hanging slackly on its hinge as his large hazel eyes stared up at her. Rachel had sat up on the bed. Her own bright eyes darkened as she took in her sister's sudden weird behaviour. 

"Ben?" Maxine repeated. The back of her shins hit the bed. Her breath came in short, rugged gasps. "Ben?" 

"_Who_?" The male transgenic asked. His brows knitted in confusion as he tilted his head slightly, staring his companion. 

Maxine saw this. The air she had trapped in her lungs rushed out, her face relaxed and her expression closed. "Nothing," she shrugged, turning away… and then, realising that her companions would never settle without an explanation. "You just reminded me of someone I knew once, that's all…" she sighed, sitting down on the bed. She brought one leg up to rest sideways on her knee and took off her shoe, gently massaging her foot. 

Behind her, Rachel gave an impatient snort and collapsed backwards against the pillows, folding her arms over her face. Any other day she might have interrogated her sister until she found out who 'Ben' was, why he seemed to be such a touchy subject and how exactly Simon reminded her of him … but, for the first time in her life, Rachel found that she just didn't care … Too much had happened tonight already. All she wanted now was to be left in peace … to think … to grieve … to cry … 

The young male stared bewildered from one female to the other. He had never meet two more confusing women in his life. First they were crying and screaming at him, then they were calling him weird names … and now they were just silently sitting there. Almost as if nothing had happened and they were just … going to sleep? He rolled his eyes in exasperation. Couldn't they just pick one mode of behaviour and stick to it? _Please_? 

Maxine dropped her shoe on the floor and turned around slightly to adjust her pillows so she could lie down herself. As she turned her dull brown eyes caught sight of her sister's unanimated state. She understood at once, because the same dead feeling was cruising though her. Numbing her. Making her feel sick. 

Wordlessly she replaced her shoe and reached across to give her Rachel's hand a comforting squeeze. "I'm going out," she exclaimed, standing up, "Need to … work things over … we'll be back in a bit." 

Rachel made no acknowledgement, but the male raised his head. "We?" he asked. 

Maxine turned on him, her eyes narrowing as she took a few threatening steps towards him. "Yes _we_," she growled, "What? You didn't think I'd leave you alone with her after everything you've done, did you?" 

Wordlessly the male transgenic got to his feet and pulled on the jacket he'd taken from the Berrisford's house. 

* * *

The two figures emerged silently from the motel lobby into the dusky haze of the night. There were no streetlamps in this part of town and there was no moon, so the only light they had to see by were few stars that weren't obscured by the heavy grey clouds that hung ominously in the sky above them. A cold night breeze rushed though the street, disturbing part of the layer of litter that lined the pavement. 

Maxine sighed, glancing down at her attire. She wasn't exactly dressed for this. Admittedly her dark figure-hugging jeans and her black slip-on shoes might just do at a pinch, but there was no way she fail to attract attention strolling down a cold street in the middle of the night wearing a silk low-cut blouse – and besides that her entire outfit was far too high-quality for an area like this. If anyone saw her they could only assume one of two things, she was either a high-class prostitute – or worse, they'd think she was exactly what she was, a rich kid who'd strayed too far from home, in which case, word would almost certainly get back to their pursuers. She seriously needed to cover up. 

Right on cue, she felt a hand touch her elbow. She spun round, to see be greet by the sight of the light-brown trench coat the male transgenic had taken from her home. She took it in silence – her good manners preventing her from biting his head off for the kind gesture simply because the coat had been her father's favourite. 'Had been,' she flinched inwardly at her own thought. 

The male seemed to sense her distress because he reached a hand out to touch her shoulder… but she batted him away angrily. "Thanks," she muttered angrily, "But look, you, erm… Do you have a name?" 

The male raised an eyebrow in response. "Well…" he finally mumbled, "I assumed the name of Simon La'Hane for the miss…" 

"I meant besides that!" Maxine snapped irritably, then paused her voice softening slightly as she tried to explain, "I just mean … that … I've _heard_ that erm... Manticore kids sometimes give each other names and I was wondering…" 

The male shook his light brown head. "I dunno where you get your sources from," he shrugged, "But if that went on at all – well, not in my unit…" He frowned suddenly. "How do you know so much ab…" 

"Then what's your barcode?" Maxine interrupted quickly. 

"I'm X5-494," he replied. 

A sudden distant look spread over her face at this news. Her jaw hung slightly open and her eyes seemed to glaze over as she seemed to stare at the wall directly behind 494. 

"_What_?" he snapped in exasperation, advancing upon her, "What is it Maxine? You keep doing this! What the hell is the significance of my barcode? How do know so much about Manticore? Who is _Ben_?" 

Suddenly he felt a fist collide with his jaw. His back slammed into the dirty concrete behind him, knocking his head against a metal dustbin as he fell. 

Slowly his vision cleared again, and he sat up, rubbing the newly formed bump on his head, as he glanced up and down the street. He scowled, throwing a few newly learned cruses at the empty street in front of him. Maxine was gone. 

* * *

Panting the dark-haired girl collapsed against the grimy tarmac of the empty street. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed bitterly into the unforgiving gravel. A single name choking over and over again though her raw lips. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, Daddy…" 

She lay there for ages, oblivious to her surroundings, until suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright, Miss?" She glanced up into the toothless wizened old face of a homeless old man. Instantly she leapt to her feet, knocking the ancient creature to the floor, as she raced though the night. Soft choking sounds still escaped her lips, as she ran wildly through the city, blinded by her tears. Anxious to find some place to be alone. 

A car swerved and screeched to a halt around her as she emerged into a main road, but she ran onwards oblivious to the driver's yells as she searched for a place of solitude. Anywhere were she could be alone. Where she could think. Where she could cry. In peace. 

She didn't know what drove her there in the end, all she knew was that she eventually found herself perched many miles above the city, her head resting on her knees, tears streaming down into the dark denim, on the edge of the space needle. 

Suddenly her head shot upwards. Wild brown eyes staring into the night as she whispered, she murmured, she prayed, she called, she screamed, "Daddy, Daddy! _Daddy! **Daddy! DAD-DEY!**_" Her face collapsed against her knees again and she cried, losing herself in the grief that had been tormenting her all day, the loneliness that had been eating into her all her life, the loss that she had gained now that the last person who had ever really come close to filling that void in her life was gone from it again forever. 

Then out of the blue she felt something warm and light spread over the tips of her shoes. She glanced up and her breath left her, as her glistening eyes suddenly shone in a brilliant mauve. Her skin was glowing bright pink. Even her hair had gained a bluish tint, as she stared breath taken into the gorgeous sight of sunrise over Seattle. 

She suddenly realised that she had been here all night. 

It was like a row a of dominos had been set up in her mind and somebody had just pushed the first one over. She couldn't believe what an idiot she'd been. She'd been here, howling at a figurative moon, while in the meantime her unprotected baby sister was left all by herself in a motel room in a city that was being searched by hostiles. Worse, she'd allowed 494 to room free though the city without assessing his loyalties first. In fact she'd even punched him in the face to practically make _sure_ he betrayed them. What if he decided to go rat to Lydecker about them? He knew exactly where Rachel was. She could be taken by a tac-team in just a few minutes. She'd been here for hours, it had only been around ten when she left 494… Was it already too late? 

Before she even knew what she was doing, Maxine bolted back towards the entrance to the Space Needle stairwell. 

* * *

As soon as she reached the road she heard them. Then saw them. Men. Navy blue uniforms. Guns. Soldiers. Manticore. 

Maxine drew back a little, her hands flat against the wall behind her, her pupils dilated as she stared, trying to get all the information she could about the treat in front of her. There were fifteen of them, all obviously soldiers, well armed, gathered round two black vehicles at the front of the motel. They seemed to be waiting for something… 'What?' Maxine wondered, frowning slightly as she bit her lip, 'Orders? Reinforcements?' She shook her head. Then suddenly it struck her… 'Perhaps these _were_ the reinforcements? Perhaps they were merely waiting for the call from some unit inside? From some_one_ inside. Someone incredibly strong with genetic enhancements … like 494 …' 

Maxine gulped, and pressed herself against the wall a little harder as her mind ruthlessly ploughed further into it's conspiracy theories, 'What if they weren't reinforcements at all? What if they were simply waiting for redeployment … after the mission had already finished?' A fresh deep crimson pearl of blood began to form on her lip at that idea. No…she didn't even want to _think_ about that… 

She burst forwards, free of the wall straight down onto the hard concrete. Her spring-like hands, either side of her head, protecting her face from the fall. In one swift movement she pulled herself forwards, behind the shelter of a nearby car. Relaxing slightly, she let a mischievous smirk flitter over her face, as she was now fairly safe from detection by the soldiers. 

Maxine inched backwards. Shuffling each tiny step. Faster and faster, until suddenly she spun around and darted towards the end of the street in an awkward crouch, driving behind the safety of the building at the end of the row. 

In less than five minutes, Maxine had circled around the block of houses and located the bare dirty piece of concrete calling itself the motel's backyard. She stole herself forwards softly, her eyes regarding the tall concrete wall. Slipping her shoes from her feet, she climbed up onto a metal dustbin, keeping her balance with catlike grace. 

She took a deep breath and jumped. The dustbin clattered to the floor, causing an awful racket. Maxine's fingers seized on the edge of a windowsill, breathing a sigh of relief, she kicked against the wall and pulled herself upwards. 

A piercing scream came from inside the room. Maxine's eyes went wide as she stared through the open window. 

A blonde was staring at her from the motel bed, clutching the blanket over her chest to preserve her modesty. Max couldn't quite work out _why_, since shooting her head up at transgenic speed had meant she'd seen everything already anyway. Though, unfortunately for him, the blonde's actions did leave the butt-naked guy beside her completely uncovered. Maxine wondered for a moment if he'd catch a cold. Nah, he had all that flab to protect him. 

"Don't mind me," she smiled at them, "I'm just passing." She freed one hand and gave them a small wave. 

Very slowly, the poor bewildered guy raised one of his own and jerked it in a limp waving motion. 

Maxine's grin broadened. "Carry on then," she quipped, reaching up for the top of the window frame to climb further. She paused and lowered herself down again. 

"Oh and by the way," she told the bewildered man who was still sitting still as a statue gaping at her, "Don't forget to top up her money. We all know _watchers cost extra_." Maxine smirked cheekily and hurriedly climbed out of sight. 

Finally, about two stories later, she found herself directly underneath the window she knew to be the room she had shared with Rachel and 494. Straining her enhanced ears she heard … nothing. 

Maxine let out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. Nothing… no screams, no sounds of a struggle, no gunshots. That meant nothing was going down in there at the moment. So … was she still in time for the party? Or had everything happened already, and there were no sounds because the room was empty? Either way – Maxine decided she wasn't going to hang around out here waiting. 

Her hands shot up, closing on the sill. Her arms tensed, and she kicked off against the wall, swinging upwards in a wide arch, until her behind smashed against the cold glass and she tumbled ass-first though the window, landing in a heap against the radiator. 

"_MAXIE?!_" a shrill voice gasped, "What _the hell_ are you doing?!" 

A stupid grin spread over Maxine's face as she caught sight of her sister, safe, sitting up in her bed doing a remarkably good impression of the woman three floors below. She jumped to her feet and almost blurred as she flew across the bed to hug her. 

"Come on," Maxine muttered urgently, as she finally let go of the gasping Rachel again, "Get your things. We need to get out of here. Now." 

Rachel frowned. "Why?" she demanded, "What's going on? Tell me!" 

Maxine shook her head. "There's no time," she hissed, grabbing her sister's wrist, "Come on! We've gotta go! _Now_!" 

"W-what about Simon?" Rachel asked, sliding out of the bed. 

Her sister's face hardened. "Don't worry about him," she half-growled, "I'm pretty sure _he's_ he's gone running home to Daddy to rat on us." 

"You should know by now that I'd never betray Rachel, 452," came an answering voice from the doorway. 


End file.
